


Guilty Desires

by snowbryneich



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-25
Updated: 2011-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:09:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowbryneich/pseuds/snowbryneich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A different match between House Stark and House Targaryen has more issues than kidnapping involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilty Desires

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Summer 2007 asoiaf_exchange fic exchange.

Sansa had momentarily not believed it when she heard the news from court but then it made perfect sense. As foolish as it was for the King to alienate the Tyrells - it was just like Jon. She had almost forgotten that it was possible for someone to be so unaware, forgotten in her own peculiar way where she simply did not think on unpleasant memories as if that could make them any less true. And now Jon had brought them all rushing back. He was, she reflected, truly _her_ father's son no matter his actual blood. She could not hold it against him, not entirely. She had been much the same once, her father's daughter and naive of the game. But Jon was also King, he could not afford to be so naive. None of them could afford it. Nor could she phrase any of her concerns to him like that. It was unwifely for one and it was just like to make him stubborn over honour. It was not as if it was the least of the problems with her lord husband who seemingly quite forgot what he was to her so regularly it almost seemed deliberate.

She should not have stayed in her apartments, she thinks, though it would have made little difference if she was there as she was not like to contradict him in front of the entire court. And Ned had needed her; she does not mean to fail as a mother like she does as a wife and queen. Now all she can do is wait for Jon and hope if he deigns to call he does it without Arya. It's impossible to talk to him when their - no _her_ sister is there and it will be more so now given the situation.

She puzzles over it. Something must be said at least, yet Jon is ever more like her father the older he gets, she knows he will not listen to her. In that they do differ. Father would have listened to Mother, mayhaps even sought his lady wife's opinion, something Jon does not and has never done with Sansa. Once Sansa might have thought this her failing but she's long since decided her cousin and lord husband is beyond help in some matters. She knows she's been a good wife in every way he'll let her be but those are decidedly few. This does not absolve her from her duty to help him though. Not least because if he continues to prove himself foolish enough he might yet follow Daenerys in more ways than one and then where would Sansa be? Widowed _again_ , chased by clamouring suitors eager to rise in the world by claiming the Eyrie and Winterfell through her as they had when Harrold died. Though she liked to think at least some of the Vale lords who'd pursued her had considered her a more pleasant prospect than Lysa had been. Likely though his decision (over the Night's Watch of all things) only makes him seem arrogant for now.

 

Jon does not come to call on her in the end and she is not overly surprised really. She goes to put Ned to bed though she knows his nurse could do a perfectly adequate job. He is her son and she does not intend to leave his care to others. Stark more than Arryn, she tells herself, smoothing his dark hair as he watches her with his Tully blue eyes whilst she tucks him into bed. She sings him a song then tells him he's as fierce as a wolf and as honourable as a falcon. When he asks for another, she tells him no quite firmly. As much as she adores him more than she ever thought possible, no child of hers will be spoiled. And as always she watches him for signs of shaking though there have never been any and he's coming up to his fourth name day. The maesters, Maester Coleman at the Eyrie where Ned had been born and the Grand Maester here at court, had told her it was unlikely to reoccur. Harrold and Robert had only been cousins after all. But she'd been cousin to Robert as well and the thought plagues her at times. Robert's death had been ... unpleasant and it made Sansa's dreams easier to think it had been the sickness instead of the sweetsleep.

When she was abed herself, still puzzling over Jon's political decisions (or more accurately unpolitical decisions), she considered perhaps she was overreacting. The realm could not afford another war and as much Jon's position was weakened by the very thing that made Sansa's life most difficult, his lack of heir, in a way it was a protection. As long as Visenya's Hill flared alight with dragon fire, as long as the dragon pit was occupied, no-one would dare kill her husband even though he inadvertently insulted the lords who petitioned him. Daenerys had had Jon legitimised and named to follow her before the Sorrowful Men had finally caught up with her. The dragons had passed to him with all else. And they were a protection even if Sansa hated them. She hated the sight of them and their foreign names and the eunuchs who even now stood guard over the dragon pit. No one, she tells herself, would wish three angered dragons with no one to control them loose on the realm. Not even Cersei Lannister who'd once plotted in these very chambers Sansa now occupied as Queen, would have been so demented. She does think perhaps Mace Tyrell could be so stupid though, and that plagued her. House Tyrell could raise more men than the other Houses mostly still decimated by the War of the Five Kings. Mace been a Targaryen supporter once, but that been before Sansa's birth. When Daenerys had returned all he'd seen was a threat to Margaery's position. Of course the fact that Daenerys's reluctant heir had declined Mace's offer of his once again widowed and yet still maiden daughter had not helped matters. That Jon had done it to wed his own newly widowed cousin with a child at her breast had likely made things worse. Perhaps if Jon had wed Margaery he might have a wife he could look at without shame and bed without guilt and likely a child of his own blood by now. Sansa was self-conscious of this lack. It reflected poorly on her though it was not even her fault. Seeds that were not planted did not grow and Jon came to her bed so rarely. Despite her lack of fault it weighed on her mind. Duty aside, Ned grew more independent each day and she wanted another baby.

Sansa attempts to put those thoughts aside, sometimes she worried Littlefinger's lessons had been taken too much to heart. She smooths the furs on the bed and sits up enough to put out the lamp. She does not know why after all this time she could not stop being Alayne. She's not been asleep for long when a noise and some light disturb her. She sleeps light, the Eyrie did that for her. He's lit the lamp and is looking at her. His bed robe is black and red, most of his clothing is, she saw to that. He needs to look the part in some ways and there is no hint of Targaryen in his features. They fall into a familiar routine then and she knows what he will say before he says it.

 

"I did not mean to wake you, my lady," he tells her. He's solemn as ever, he reminds her of Father and there is a spark of desire she blames on both Alayne and Petyr equally followed by the usual ache of guilt that any thought of Lord Eddard brings.

"I was not sleeping," she lies, as she always does. She sits up letting the furs fall away from her. She only has a light shift on. She's glad she wore this one tonight, she'd been beginning to think it had been a waste of coin. At least her other fine things are admired at court. The silk is so thin that in full light you can see through it. In the dark of the room, with only the light of the lamp the outline of her breasts are visible and she watches as he stares then looks away. She wonders if it would be any easier if they addressed the subject. It is somewhat foolish, he's her husband, that he has to go through this build up just to claim his rights is so . . . so very like him. His timing is better than on his other infrequent visits and Sansa allows herself a brief moment of hope, they could make a child tonight.

She reaches for his hand, she has to strike a balance between being welcoming and showing she wants him but not being too forward. "But you look tired," she says. "Come to bed." He hesitates but then he does, clambering into bed beside her. She feels relieved, she thinks he'll stay now and yet she cannot squash the initial sensation that being in bed with Jon means Robb should join them, then baby Arya. And then Old Nan will tell them a story. The thought sends a pang of grief through her but then Jon kisses her and she manages to push the thought away.

 

It's always awkward and hesitant at first as though he can't quite bear to touch her. She returns the kiss eager and sweet, she has to show she's willing or he'll back off. Some days she considers the bed tricks she had to learn to keep Harry happy but she's certain that if she tried any of them Jon would run from her bed horrified. Not a one of them could be considered ladylike. She makes a small happy sound and presses herself against him. She can feel his manhood hard against her thigh and she shifts subtly trying to excite him. The lamp is still lit and she wonders if he'll leave it, sometimes he does and he looks at her as he takes her his expression unreadable. Sansa doesn't mind the light, he looks like Father and that makes her desperately ashamedly wet. Mostly he extinguishes it though and takes her furtively not saving her name or even looking at her in the darkness.

He enjoys it though, she's sure of that. It's his shame that keeps him from her bed not lack of desire. It had been easy enough to see what he wanted, twice widowed when she wed him and no stranger to bed games, men and the way they think of women. Jon wanted a beautiful highborn wife, and what is she if not that? She can act the blushing maid well enough, for all she was not a maiden when they wed: always welcoming, never forward. The kind of lady Jon never thought he'd get to wed. What she's not learned is how to convince him now she truly wants his attentions, that sharing his bed is neither a duty nor a chore, not an unpleasantness to be endured. It may wound him in one way, that she can dismiss him from her heart so easily as a brother but if she cares for him as a husband, is that not enough? Sansa's loyalties shift easily, she would gladly tell him he's easily the husband she favours most but it would bring up questions she does not want to answer. Jon had known more of Tyrion than any other of her family and he has never so much as asked what passed between her and her Lannister husband. Worse though, Jon seems to believe Harry was the gallant knight that reputation and rumour have claimed he was. They'd met only once and Harry could play the part when not drink sodden. Sansa has not dissuaded Jon from this opinion, she does not want his pity. She sometimes thinks of Tyrion in her prayers, and lights a candle to the Stranger. She does not give Harry the same honour, but considering the manner of his death it would perhaps be wrong of her to do so.

 

Jon falters above her and she curses herself for a fool inwardly, lying there like a lump will only increase his conviction that he imposes on her, that she shares his guilt at lying with someone they had once thought of as a sibling. She occasionally wonders if Jon would have been so considerate of his wife no matter who he married or if he is especially careful because of what they once were to each other. She leans up to kiss him trying to be encouraging. She does her best with what she has once he starts something between them. She reacts carefully to each touch and kiss, whimpering for him, shifting into his kisses and touches easily, pleading with looks and motions but of course never being so bold as to actually ask for his attentions with words. Harry and Petyr had both liked to make her do that and she was determined she never would again. It's not difficult to be pleading and eager with Jon, whatever experience he had before he knows something of bedding and on the occasions he does share her bed there is normally pleasure in it for her.

Jon leaves the lamp alone in the end and so she watches him watch her as she lifts her shift up undressing for him. He startles her somewhat by stopping her once the material is past her hips. His hands holding hers in place for a brief moment. He bends his head to her breast and suckles a nipple through the thin fabric. The sensation is unexpectedly different, it makes his tongue feel rougher somehow so when she arches against him with a gasp of approval it's more honest than her reaction might have otherwise been.

She parts her legs obediently when he slides a hand between her thighs, and bites her lip. He's always so careful with her which Sansa forgets between times. It's years past but she remembers Harry's rough hands on her. If she were still wed to him he'd be in her by now. Instead Jon pays careful attention to her breasts as he slides a finger inside her and then another. She trembles as he teases her, fucking her with his fingers. Sansa flushes at the very thought. Harry used to make Alayne says things like that, he used to make Alayne beg to be fucked, he'd made her say all sorts of filth. 'Jon is pleasuring me,' she corrects herself. She doesn't like it when Alayne pops up in her thoughts, especially not now.

She gasps as he carries on teasing her, and daring to be bold, she reaches for the ties on his bedgown and when he is bare, he clambers on top of her. She can feel the heat and hardness of his manhood against her thigh before he pushes himself into her. He reaches down and holds her hips as he thrusts into her. She moves back against him enjoying this, he's rougher than normal (though it's naught compared to Harry's use of her) and she thinks there is a desperation in it, more than usual. Maybe it's been longer than she thought since he last came to her bed. His thrusts become more frantic and she feels herself coming closer to her own pleasure. Her voice gets breathy and she clings to him but close as she is, her responsiveness seems to push him over the edge. He says her name in a strangled voice, something he rarely does and the first noise he's made since he apologised for waking her and he's done. She feels a brief pang of disappointment but she dismisses it, his seed might quicken and that would be enough for her.

He exhales hard and for a moment rests his weight on her and it's nice, close. He rolls off her and they lie there in silence and then he extinguishes the lamp. It's hard for her to sleep with him in her bed. She is not used to it, she would ask him not to remain when they are done if she did not fear driving him away entirely. She feigns sleep well enough though, what can she not feign at this point? But in the dark she is thinking at some point they must broach this, or she must at least since she does not think he ever will. He has the same sickness that Cersei told her she had once, Jon wants to be loved. Perhaps if she were more loving? Things might then be different though she is like to have more success by telling him he's failing in his duties as husband.

 

When she wakes the next morning she's surprised to find him there. He is normally long gone when she wakes, his side of the bed cold. Worst still he is looking at her in a manner than is most off putting. He looks disconcerted and she worries she said something she shouldn't in her sleep. They are disturbed by a knock and it's the nurse with Ned, who is howling for her quite determinedly. At least until he sees Jon and decides instead that he shall climb on him. Sansa dismisses the nurse and watches them wrestle for a moment before taking the opportunity to clamber out of bed and cover herself decently.

"Ned," she says gently, "let your stepfather be." For all her being correct, Ned calls Jon 'Father' and Sansa does not have the heart to discourage it, not for Harry's sake though it will be awkward when he's older.

"No, it's well enough," he says, "he can come to the yard with me." Sansa holds her tongue, she thinks Ned too young for practise swords though he does little enough as yet and he isn't truly. If she were to say aught Jon would only remind her that he and Robb started at three.

 

When they are gone and Sansa is alone, she must deal with Varys. She does not like the eunuch but she sees his use and she must do what Jon will not. The master of whisperers has only an unofficial title now, dismissed from the small council as unnecessary. Sansa will listen to what he has to say and pass what she can onto Jon disclaiming it as court gossip. Gossip is more acceptable than spies in her husband's eyes.

And once Varys is gone she gets another unwelcome visit. Arya. Sansa loves her sister but her joy at learning Arya lived did not last long. She has only grown more tiresome as she ages. She had not spoken to either Jon or Sansa for near on three turns of the moon when they had wed declaring the union disgusting. Sansa would perhaps not have cared except it had made Jon miserable and nothing Sansa could say or do made any difference. Mayhaps things might have gone differently without that initial awkwardness.

Sansa wonders what the visit is in aid of. Arya is the least suitable sister to a Queen and cousin to the King that perhaps court has ever seen. They do not spend their time together as a matter of course and today Arya does not even greet her before she launches into an accusation. "Why don't you want Ned to learn swords?" she queries bluntly. She's dressed in breaches and tunic and the nicest Sansa can say of them is that they are neither ripped not dirty, at least not yet.

"Of course I want him to learn," Sansa protests mildly, stabbing her needle through a piece of needlework slightly more viciously than she needed to. Jon would talk to her. She moves the skirt of her gown out of range of Arya's pacing. "I just . . . it reminds me how quickly he is growing up, it barely seems a moment since he was a baby."

Arya wrinkles her nose. "He's much more interesting now," she said, "Babies don't do anything." This is when it occurs to Sansa, what she needs to do, to say. She should be ashamed to think of using her sister so but it's hardly her fault Arya lacks discretion.

"It's different when you're a mother," she said loftily and deliberately, not that Arya ever will be, she thinks spitefully. Arya does not want to marry, Jon does not seem inclined to make her, and gods knows who would take her anyway. "He is growing though, perhaps the gods will be good and grant me another baby, it would be better if he were not an only child." Arya makes a face but she's silent for a moment after that and when she leaves (without so much as asking Sansa's leave to go) Sansa knows at least she's tried something.

 

She had not expected that her words to Arya (and therefore to Jon because Arya tells him everything,) would have such an immediate effect but Jon returns to her chambers that night. For once it is different, he does not tell her he did not mean to wake her. He is clearly mulling over his words, he pulls back the furs and pauses a long moment before he tells her, "Ned should have a brother, or a sister."

Sansa will never have such a chance again and she leans up to kiss him. "Brothers," she said firmly, "and sisters, both." She pulls him down on top of her and is surprised when he responds eagerly, she'd been worried that would be too much. When he enters her this time, after barely touching her, she's still more than ready. It's more hurried and rushed and frantic and needy than ever before. He nuzzles her breasts and makes her arch her hips so he can get deeper inside her. Her pleasure surprises them both when it hits and it triggers his. Afterwards he kisses her more deeply that he ever has and his looks at her full of hope.

Belatedly Sansa realises she has finally found something that they have in common, that they _want_ in common. That knowledge makes her guilty when her moon blood does not come a fortnight later and she does not speak of it to Jon. She tells herself it's saving him false hope but in truth she's gotten used to having him in her bed nightly. The longer it lasts the more he will become used to it and perhaps it will be the norm. It's only after she's caught while afflicted with mother's stomach that she blushingly tells him her suspicion. She had worried for naught though for if he had liked the idea of getting her with child it's nothing compared to how he wants her now she's quickened. His lovemaking is more gentle and tender but none the less frequent. The only thing Sansa likes more than seemingly having won her husband over is the way she's disconcerted Arya almost entirely.


End file.
